The Year Wanting
by James-Padfoot
Summary: Killian was going to find his way back to Emma, or die trying. There was no other way to it. What he hadn't counted on, were the circumstances that would lead him to her, or the family he would leave behind. This is a Secret Santa present for CS Aura Fluffer for the Tumblr CSSS.
1. 1 Week

**The Year Wanting, Part I**

The moment his feet touch the ground, he knows he needs to go back. He is tired, and angry, and sad, and _broken _so he closes his eyes and breathes the clean, crisp air of the Enchanted Forest and instead sees her face, lit up in a tremulous smile, eyes intense as she says "Good." He knows that memory will play in a loop until she is back in his arms, _and then _they will say so much more. He knows this. Refuses to believe anything else, because he can't.

He wastes no time, turning to Regina, only for the words to die on his lips when he sees the crumpled look on her face, the tremble in her hands and the furious lip-biting that he knows is an attempt not to cry. He doesn't even hear Snow speaking, feels the procession moving but is rooted to the spot, until Regina meets his eyes, and he feels her pain like no one else there. Snow and Charming have done this before, they've given Emma up before, they believe she'll be happy in her own time because _they still have each other_. They have someone to live for, someone to continue with.

Before anything else can happen, Regina utters a sentence that sends shards of ice through him, "They're not going to remember us _at all_, Hook."

In Regina's eyes, he sees that same desolation, because Henry was all she had, and the mere hope of Emma, and his love for her (he tells himself she feels the same way, because _Good, _but he doesn't know, not for sure) is all that he has, and_now she isn't even going to remember him_, and the fire that was burning is suddenly quenched. He loves her, _he loves her_, he is so in love with her, and gods, not even having someone try to rip out your heart is as painful and Killian knows that pain, knows this doesn't even compare.

They stand there, staring at each other, immobilized by their grief until the silence is broken by Charming's voice. "Hook. Regina."

Killian takes a deep breath before facing the prince, and feels the fire spark again, he knows the emotion, it's anger, righteous anger, and anger is an emotion he does well, and anger driven by unquenchable love is far more powerful, more deadly, and most importantly, most efficient. Because he'll die trying, or he'll just die, it's the same and it isn't, and even if he does die, she'll never be hurt by it, because she'll never know the battles he had to fight or the realms he'll have to cross to return to her.

Even as the words leave his lips, directed at Charming, at the whole fucking world, he doesn't see anyone, doesn't see the blonde prince who looks too much and too little like his daughter.

"I will find her."

There is so much anger in his words that Killian savors it, lets it energize him, lets it brand him with purpose.

Finally, he looks at Charming, whose gaze flickers between him and Regina, before landing back to meet his gaze and says two words that shatter Killian.

"I know."

It is almost a week later that Regina finds him, she appears into his room in a puff of purple smoke as though she has the right to, but there is something missing from this former queen. It's almost like she was a painting that had been left in the rain, and some color had flowed out, but you knew that it was beautiful and powerful but just, not the same.

"Regina," he says in greeting because in truth he doesn't mind her, she misses Henry, and he misses Emma, and even though they share the same pain, they don't share the same person and Killian just wants to selfishly grieve, just for a while.

"I heard you talking to Tink," she says, and Killian rolls his eyes because clearly some things don't change.

"And what did you glean from our _titillating _conversation, love?"

"The fairy dust _may_ work in the land without magic, but it may also fail."

"Pardon?"

Regina rolled her eyes at him as if she thought he was being purposely obtuse.

"The fairy dust," she repeats. "Supposed to lead you to your true love, and all that."

It's her body language and the look in her eyes, faraway, staring out the window; makes the gears click in his head, information and observation interlocking seamlessly, derailing him from the conversation entirely.

"It was you! You're the one she lost her wings for."

And then brain catching up to his revelation, "She used her fairy dust to help _you_find your true love?"

Regina bristles, and glares, opening her mouth and then closing it abruptly.

"I didn't come here to talk about my past," she snaps.

Killian gapes at her, because well, Regina apparently used fairy magic to find her true love, and he wonders how long ago that was and how much of a different person she must have been.

He shrugs. "I'm not using the dust to find her. I'm using the dust to fly the Jolly there."

"Is that even possible?"

"Neverland was the second star to the right from that land. Which would mean the inverse direction if I wanted to fly back there."

Regina stares at him incredulously. "I'm desperate to get Henry back, but you're crazy to even consider going back to Neverland!"

"Pan is dead," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"You don't know Pan is dead. Or who took over. Or if it even still exists!"

"There's something you need to know about Neverland. It wasn't always the hellhole we were subjected to. Once, before Pan, it was just a place children visited in their dreams, and no one actually lived there. You could come and go as you please, dreamshade wasn't a deadly poison, and magic of its purest filtered through the land. A fairytale, I suppose you could say."

"That changed when Pan decided to stay?"

"Aye. You weren't supposed to stay, but he did, and it changed the rules. But most importantly, with Pan gone, Neverland reverts to what it once was. Neverland existed before Peter Pan came into existence, and it will exist longer now that he is gone."

"That's a lot to gamble on, pirate."

Killian gives her the smuggest grin he can manage, because he knows she knows these words, knows whom it will remind her off. "Have a little faith, love."

She narrows her eyes at him, but pulls out something from her cloak. It's gold and dangling on a chain, and he realizes it's _the_ compass. She tosses it at him, and he catches it on instinct.

It's Regina's turn to be smug. "You'll need that, pirate."

And then, with a cloud of purple smoke, she's gone.


	2. 6 Months

**The Year Wanting, Part II**

* * *

Almost six months pass by before he finally gets a lead on realm jumping. In that time, he has formed a friendship of sorts with Charming, Robin Hood, Philip, Eric and one based on friendly-snark with Regina. He figures they keep each other on their toes. His relationship with Baelfire takes much more to mend, but it's not hard work he hadn't already expected, so he dutifully takes time, getting to know the boy he had once wronged and the man he became as a result.

He has put blood and sweat into rebuilding the kingdom, brick by brick and making small amendments to the décor because he thinks she'll like it. He meets the people, eats and drinks with them, learning the kingdom that belongs to her because when she comes home (because he _knows_ she'll prefer the painful truth to beautiful lies), she'll need all the help she can get to adjust. He takes up order, establishing the royal navy, because he thinks if he ever wishes to be a respectable complement to a princess, he must regain the glory he once gave up. He thinks Liam would be proud he's finally found a king worth serving for, honorable to the bone.

He has travelled distances to ensure safety and peace and most importantly, feels like Killian Jones once again. It's a slow process, but he knows it will all be for naught if he goes to meet her without first becoming a man of honour, worthy of her love.

The next expedition Killian finds himself on is with Charming alone; it's just a scouting mission, through the forest to where apparently Charming's twin had once resided. A small, secret hut, not at all fit for the personality of Prince James, and was thus deserving of this visit of curiosity.

Killian didn't ask why Charming hadn't told anyone about the true nature of this trip, ("Just a scouting trip, Snow," he said) or why it had been him the King had chosen. He already knew, in that same unnerving way he'd been able to read Emma – by sharing Liam with David in Neverland and James with Killian, they'd forged a bond of lost brothers.

Instead, when he speaks, it's to ask how Charming knows exactly how to find this place, if he can.

"I never knew I was a twin," Charming said, walking in front with his back to Killian. "But I always felt like something was… misplaced. Sometimes I'd feel intense emotions, things that didn't make sense, and sometimes I could see things, often dreams. I didn't know I was a twin until he died, and didn't realize those dreams were his realities until later. He kept coming here, until one day he just didn't. And when he finally did, he brought a satchel with him, and a woman's dress. He loved her in some way, but I just remember a feeling of guilt. Like he was responsible for her death."

"We're all responsible for the death of our loved ones," Killian says carelessly. "Did you have a lot of these dreams?"

"Not really. Just the few, and they were mostly activities, like this, going to this place, habits, I think. Things that meant something to him."

"Why come here only now?"

"What reason have I had before?"

"He was your brother."

David glances back at him briefly, before pushing forward.

"My relationship with James wasn't like yours with Liam. Plus, since assuming his role, my life hasn't quite given me time to take such an excursion. And we're here."

They step into a clearing, but Killian sees nothing. Of course, he knows not to take that as face value, because nothing is ever as it seems, especially in this land.

When they finally figure out where the hut is and how to get inside, an hour has passed. David pushes the door, and dust flies up into the dwindling sunlight.

"At least his things will be undisturbed," Killian says, as they take cautious steps inside.

It's not too shabby though certainly not fit for the egoistical prince David swears James was.

"It's his pirate's cove," Killian says quietly, after taking a look around the room. There is an order about the room, as messy as it is. A coordinated chaos, he thinks. Trinkets and books and locked chests are pushed up against one side, but Charming's sharp intake of breath drags Killian's attention away from an eerily familiar looking glass.

"He knew."

"What?" Killian asks, wondering if _he_ was even supposed to know.

"James knew. About my mother. Probably about me."

Killian sees the object David is holding up, it's a dark blue shawl, tied at one end to a glass bottle. The bottle has dark amber liquid, very little left, and for a moment he thinks its liquor, before realizing that it's a perfume bottle.

"Your mother's," he deduces, though it comes out more like a question.

"This was the one thing of value my father left her, when he died. One day, it was missing, along with her favorite shawl. She was devastated for weeks."

David sniffs the shawl, and his fingers grasp tightly against it. Killian knows he's remembering her smell, taking it in, savoring the little bit of the woman he has lost. Killian turns away, because it's a private vulnerable moment, and says nothing.

"Why'd he steal it?"

The question comes out like it's from the mouth of a babe, a child not understanding the world, and David looks so lost for a moment that Killian's heart breaks for him.

"For the same reason you just did, mate," he answers, because it'd been obvious to him the moment he'd realized the significance of the smell.

"Oh," is David's reply, and his eyes dart around the room, like he's not sure why he's even there.

But Killian's attention is riveted to a familiar small satchel peeking out from the side of a battle outfit. He picks it up, shaking contents into his palm, daring to hope. It almost defies his belief when not one, but two dried beans fall into his hand. He considers pocketing one quietly, but that would be bad form, so he calls for the prince, _king_, he amends.

"He's been up the beanstalk," Killian says as David catches sight of the beans in his open palm, eyes bugging out of his skull.

"Holy crap," David says, picking one up and examining it. "Wait, this looks shriveled. It won't work, will it?"

"No, it won't. But there's water in Lake Nostos now, from when Cora was here. It will restore its properties, I should think."

"You mean to use this? To get back to Emma?"

"Aye." After a heartbeat, Killian realizes he has no right to it. "If you'll allow it. These are after all, yours."

David looks shocked by that, as if suddenly realizing that his dead twin's possessions are in fact his, that he is the only living heir of James whatever-their-last-name-was. David's eyes take in the room, as if looking at the things there for the first time.

"Mate?"

A sigh. "I'm fine."

"What shall we do with these?" Killan holds the beans up, not daring to presume, but his heart is beating fast with the anticipation that he is _this close _to finding a way back to her. He doesn't care if she doesn't remember, because he'll win her heart either way. If Emma is truly happy with the fake memories Regina gave her, then Killian will leave her be with them and forge new, happier ones. If for some reason she is tormented or haunted, then he will break Regina's hold on Emma's mind and create a future she will never want to forget. Either way, he can't continue living here, knowing she is there. He hasn't slipped into the darkness the way he had when he'd lost Liam or Milah, but Killian knows that he can't continue living here like this when Emma is there, out there, somewhere.

"David?" he calls, when the king doesn't answer him.

David lets out a louder sigh, pulling a piece of rope that's looped by a pillar and running his fingers along its length. "We take anything of import to the castle, and decide. But first," David turns to face Killian, pocketing the bean he'd been examining, "you keep that safely," he says, nodding at the bean in Killian's outstretched palm, "That is yours. I may… Emma is… She's my daughter, Jones, no one will ever be remotely good enough for her, but she. You love her, and for me, that will have to do. So go to her, because I know what it's like to be separated from the one you love, I know how you feel, to want her to be happy, but to feel devastated and self-loathing at your selfishness because on some level, you think she'd be happier with you, but you have to accept that she can be happy without you…"

Killian swallows the sudden lump in his throat at David's words, words he knows are true, a story behind them that speaks of how much Snow and Charming have already been through, just to hold on to each other. And he knows with certainty that every time they look at each other, it is all worth it. He knows, because it is all he wants.

He nods stiffly, closing his hands around the bean, remembering suddenly another time and place when he'd done the same motion, only now he can't switch hands, and it doesn't matter anyway, because Charming isn't going to cut off his hand and kill the person he loves.

David clears his throat, the thick moment passing, and says, "Snow will probably throw a fit, though. I've got your back, I suppose."

Killian's eyes widen in surprise at that careless declaration, feeling an indescribable kinship. "And I you," he replies, trying and failing to keep his tone light and uncharged.

David shrugs. "Let's see what else we can find."

When they return to the castle, it is well into the night. They had taken a detour to Lake Nostos to bottle some of its water, as Killian had a nagging sensation about the water's scarcity, and had learnt thus far to trust his instincts. So it was completely unsurprising that the moment they stepped into the council room that Snow White threw herself at her husband, all the while berating him for taking so long and making her worry. It was such an Emma thing to do that Killian's heart ached.

"Killian!" Roland called out happily, and he turned, coming face to face with the cherub face of Robin Hood's son.

"Hey lad," he said, grinning and ruffling the boy's hair. Roland tried to move out of the way, but Killian was faster, and a happy squeal filled the air. They shook hands in their special manner, a series of finger twists, upturned palms and motions devised by the enthusiastic six year old.

"You were supposed to teach me swords today," Roland says, speaking to both Killian and David with a pout.

"Our quest took us a little longer than expected, young sir," Killian answers, "but I expect if you retire to sleep now, we can have an early start?"

His eyes dart to the corner of the room, where Robin is poring over a map with Bae. Robin gives a curt nod, permission, and refocuses on whatever it is they were discussing.

"Promise?"

"Of course," Charming cuts in, an arm around Snow's waist, winking down at Roland. The little boy grins, and calls out a happy good night, before racing off down the hall. Roland's presence had taken them all by surprise, and yet, having such pure enthusiasm, so undisturbed by the troubles of life gave them all something tangible to fight for and preserve. The boy was a breath of fresh air, and Killian and Snow and Charming and Regina were in desperate need of it.

"Figures," Snow says, "that it is the two of you to succeed where we have been failing for about half an hour."

Killian shrugs, smirking at the queen. "A handsome pirate and a charming king, what can I say…"

"Mmhmm," is all Snow says, turning her attention to the two filled satchels they had placed on the table. "What's all this then?"

Killian stays silent, as David clears his throat and began speaking. "I found a little place James kept his keepsakes, and we found some interesting items."

Instead of pulling out the bean, which was truly the only thing Killian cared about, David pulled out the Forget Me Knot. It was a thick rope, in the shape of a hangman's noose that had the ability to show the last event in the place it was hung over.

"A Forget Me Knot?" Regina asked, eyebrow raised.

David shrugged. "It's a useful magical item, at any rate. But there's also this," he said, pulling out the bean from his pocket unceremoniously. His eyes flicked to Killian's momentarily, a clear indication of '_Shut up, and let me do the talking_' in his gaze.

"But it looks… dead," Snow said, being the closest to Charming to inspect the bean.

Killian focused on Regina, who looked tortured by the bean, and it would take no scholar to guess what was running through her mind.

"The giant is here, isn't he? Could we…" Regina trailed off, the unasked question clear.

"I don't know," was Charming's response, as his eyes flicked again to Killian's, "but… we could try."

"Neal should go," Snow said, and Killian wondered when everyone had just decided that the only use for the bean was to bring Emma and Henry back. Of course, he had the knowledge that there were two beans, and might have come to the same conclusion, as everyone else without that foresight, but the rumors of a dark force stirring in the west was also a cause for concern.

To everyone's surprise, it was Neal who spoke. "No. No, if what Regina did was only change Emma's memories after Henry, then in her mind, I still left her to rot in jail for my crimes, remember? She had hardly forgiven me _even when she knew_ why and of course I hadn't known about Henry but I doubt…" he trailed off when it seemed the temperature of the room had chilled, and its inhabitants stood still in shock.

Killian felt his own heart seize, a thousand things making sense at once, even if he had known that Emma had been broken by Neal - to hear it was an entirely different matter.

"You did what?!" Charming said, standing tall and rounding to face Neal.

Neal gulped visibly, his eyes flicking to all the people in the room, (Killian noticed Robin flattening himself against the wall, as if unwilling to be dragged anywhere near this confrontation), before settling on Snow's impassive face.

"I thought you knew," Neal said, speaking to her.

Snow disentangled herself from her husband's side, walking to Neal, facing him directly, and for a brief second, no one seemed to move. Then, suddenly,

WHACK.

Snow slapped him so hard, Killian was sure Neal was seeing stars. To his credit, the man didn't cry out, didn't protest, just stood in pain as his number one advocate turned on him and walked away, her hands trembling.

Another heavy silence befell the group, before Charming spoke. "I think it's time you told us the whole story," he said, his voice like ice. Killian had never heard such controlled anger from the prince before, and could suddenly picture with vivid clarity a man holding his newborn daughter as he fought hell and fire to give her a chance in the world.

Neal sat down heavily on a chair, as if facing a death sentence interrogation, and spoke of his past transgressions as Snow's palm print stood out brightly on his cheek. At some point, Regina and Robin left, and even though he supposed this was a familial affair, he could not leave, so he stood silently against the wall, as he learned what had caused Emma's walls, and why she was so hesitant to fall in love with him the way he swore she wanted to.

When Neal stopped speaking, looking as if he had aged another century, it was David that broke the silence.

"So in summary, you knew she had a horrible childhood filled with abandonment issues, and yet after promising her to never do that, you not only abandoned her, but abandoned her to serve for your crimes? And destroyed her faith in love and family and people forever? Which caused her to believe she could have never be loved or have her son?"

There was no way to answer that, Killian knew, and despite his own anger and disappointment at Baelfire's behavior, he couldn't bring himself to be as angry at Emma's parents. In part, perhaps, because he was just as guilty for destroying Bae's faith in love and family. That he'd advocated a mother leaving her child, that he'd helped someone do exactly what his father had done to him, that he'd forgotten in the moment he fell in love with Milah how broken a man could be made when his parents left him.

"I was rooting for you, you know," Snow said, her voice sad and tired, and Killian was surprised to her gaze flicker to his own momentarily, acknowledging that she hadn't quite approved of him as a suitor for her daughter, "because your stories… it was so similar. I was a bandit once, and Emma's parallel to my own…but I never knew. You… you don't give up on someone you truly love, you don't leave them, no matter how scared you are of your father, _you just don't_. You move heaven and earth to be with them, that is what love is. That is what true love is."

"Indeed," Charming says warmly, and his gaze too, flicks to Killian's own, acknowledging their earlier conversation.

"I'm sorry," is all Neal says, rubbing the heel of his palms against his eyes, "I'm sorry," he repeats.

"So am I," Snow says, and then without another word, turns around and walks out of the room.

David sighs loudly, before clapping his hand on Neal's shoulder, making the man look up, startled.

"She'll come around. Just, focus on the task at hand."

"What about you?" Neal dares ask.

"I want to beat you into pulp," he says honestly, "and if Snow hadn't gotten to you first, I would have. But, it's done, it's a past long done, and Emma may have accepted your actions, but if there is one thing I know about my daughter, is that her son is the most important thing in her world. She put all her issues aside with you for Henry, and whether or not you like it, you're part of this family. Regardless of our reasons, we too, abandoned Emma. We're just as much to blame for her troubles, if not more."

With that, he squeezes Neal's shoulder, and goes in search of his wife. Neal sighs deeply as the king exits, leaving Killian alone with him.

"So you won, huh?" Neal says finally, meeting Killian's eyes.

"It's not a contest," Killian says, repeating Emma's words from Neverland.

"No," Neal says, with another defeated sigh. "No, because Emma isn't here, and neither is my son, and her parents hate me, and you're going to be a smug bastard about this, aren't you?"

"This may surprise you, Baelfire," he says icily, using the name of the boy, "but this isn't about Emma at all. I too, owe you an apology."

That seems to throw the man off, who looks completely confused.

"What?"

"I wronged you, twice. First, when I failed to remember what it's like when a parent abandons you, and the second, when I betrayed you to Pan in my own anger and hurt."

"You seriously want to talk about what happened 300 years ago, Hook?"

"We never have before, and I am trying to make amends."

"I don't need you to make amends."

"Bae…"

"My name is Neal!"

"You are both!" he argues, "Just like how I am both Captain Hook and Killian Jones."

"Yet you asked to be called Killian, because Hook reminds you of things you'd rather forget. You, more than anyone, should recognize the power in a name."

"You're still calling me Hook," he points out.

"That is because I can't forgive you. You didn't just take my mother away from me Hook, YOU MADE MY FATHER."

"What?"

"Part of becoming the Dark One was to protect me from the wars, but mostly, you made him realize how powerless he was. You bullied him, you took away his wife, and you humiliated him."

"He was a coward!" Killian says, before he can stop himself. "Milah refused to see him, when he first came aboard my ship to beg me to _release her_. He hadn't realized she'd left on her own free will, and I never corrected his notion, and I thought I was protecting her. I gave him a chance, to pick up a sword and fight me for her, but he refused to even try. He _refused to pick up a sword_ to fight for a woman he so-called love. I wasn't going to kill him if he did, all I wanted to see if he loved her enough to fight for her. But he didn't. I told him then, a man who doesn't fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

Killian took a deep breath, realizing he'd gone off tangent with his apology. He moved closer to the man.

"We were all cowards, now that I see it. He, for not defending his family, she, for not facing him and you with the truth, and me, for being afraid that she'd leave me so soon after I found her. Milah was a person unto herself, even if she had made unwise decisions, as did I, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry, Bae because in some manner, you'll always be that little boy I so desperately yearned to do right by. I really would have given up revenge and pirating to raise you, you know."

"Okay," Neal says, and Killian's not sure if that's an acceptance or if he is even partially forgiven, but at the very least, he now knows.

"I guess it doesn't matter, right? My parents are dead, my son is in a different land with his mother, neither of whom remembers this, and _this_ is all we have left. Two stupid men, a pirate and a thief, bound together by the most twisted of family tree's…"

Killian laughs at that, because it's true. "So it would seem."

"Look, about what I said earlier, my dad made his own choices, unwise as well, and I don't blame you _for all of them, _no matter what I said. I guess I'm sorry too. Let's just, put this behind us, okay?"

"Okay," Killian says softly. He doesn't move to hug him, though he desperately wants to, can see they're not quite there yet, but it's something. And for the first time, the little place in his heart that has been burning with unresolved guilt feels a little lighter.

Neal extends a hand to Killian, and Killian takes it like a life-line, shaking his hand in acknowledgement.

"Good night, Hook."

"Good night, Bae."


	3. 12 Months and a New (Old?) World

This is CS-Aura-Fluffer's CSSS gift. It's the last installment of your gift, it's been an absolute pleasure writing for you, I hope you've liked it!

**12 Months and a New (Old?) World**

* * *

Killian fiddles with the flask absent mindedly, staring out into this world's busy waters, glad that before they were taken, Regina had the foresight to spell and conceal the Jolly.

His stare is blank, unseeing, as he recalls a time not long after their return, when he'd grapple with himself and his drink, fighting the urge to fall back into a familiar, dreamless, rum-induced sleep rather than acknowledge that he should (selfishly) chase his happy ending even if that meant disrupting hers, that Emma would appreciate the truth, that her _good _meant _thank you_, meant _find me_, meant _don't stop thinking of me, of us, remember me, please_.

He remembers divining so much meaning from a single word that at some point, they've become real, all those words, in all its forms. Killian tells himself he understood, _understands_ Emma, that he wasn't wrong in his interpretation, but he also remembers, before Tinkerbell had set him on course (_"You're not just ruining your life being miserable here, idiot, you're ruining her own real happy ending"_), his deep fears that someone as invidious as himself was even worthy of any kind of love and redemption, more so, the love of Emma Swan.

His lips curl up slightly as he remembers Tinkerbell's harsh rebuke at what had been a short lived pity party not even two months in the Enchanted Forest, when he'd stopped counting the days, how she had grabbed his hook and gouged it on the wooden panel, adding another line to mark the day, voice just short of a scream.

"ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS, HOOK?" she'd asked, the wings she had regained buzzing angrily behind her, "GIVING UP? Going back to being a pirate with a serious case of alcoholism? A coward?"

Even after all this time, he can't remember clearly what he'd thought, just that he had been overtaken with rage and grief, and had moved so fast she had no time to react. He'd pined her to the same wooden panel with the marks, hook pressing into her skin lethally, and he hissed, "I'm not giving up, and I'm not a coward!"

She hadn't even flinched, just looked at him with fire in her green eyes, snarling, "Prove it."

The memory makes Killian grimace; it hadn't been one of his finer points, in his temper he had hurt Tink, scuffing her wings when he'd pushed her, a fact he learned from Regina the following day, as she slammed into him with her own brand of rage, calling him an idiot by every name, threatening to take away his other hand if he ever let his grief hurt another person again.

But more than that, were her words that followed (in a controlled anger that Killian knew was always more dangerous than uncontrolled anger) she had said, "And if this is how you behave you deal with anger after a drink, I _never _want you near my son. You don't deserve to be near Henry, or Emma for that matter, if you can't control yourself, pirate."

Her words still burn him, because she'd been absolutely spot-on, because even if he knew no matter the circumstances that he'd never hurt either Henry or Emma, the fact that he'd shown himself capable of it was bad form. _Very_ bad form. It was Regina's words really, that had driven him to surrender his flask to a very confused David the next day, explaining that since he was the most sea-worthy, that he should focus his tasks on rebuilding a royal fleet, and royal fleets had no place for rum, which would lead to bad form.

Neither Tinkerbell nor Regina had spoken of _the incident _with anyone else; Killian was in equal parts relieved and ashamed that it was so, but David had simply looked at him with a hand on his hip and asked an uncomfortable question that Killian hadn't actually considered.

"You've had a drink everyday since you became a pirate, haven't you?"

"Aye," he'd answered, because it was true.

He remembers the exasperated sigh David had given him, the chilling words that followed. "You can't just stop cold turkey, Hook, you'd die."

At Killian's stricken look, David had informed him that he just had to lessen the drinking, allow his body time to adjust after being dependent for so long, and Killian had wanted to tell him it wasn't his body but his mind that depended on it, but the words were too embarrassing to say, and the man was not only king but father to the woman he was in love with, and Killian could not bare to add another blemish to his already tarnished character.

Instead, he'd added oil to his fire, determined to never again slip into the shady character of Captain Hook, had requested everyone address him by his given name as an outward reminder of the man people expected him to be, had _earned _the respect of the king and queen and the people around them, atoned for his mistakes as best as he could, made friends, had taught Roland as he would like to have taught Henry, had become the navy lieutenant he never knew he could be ever again. Well, Lord Protector of the Realm and Admiral of the Navy, as David and Snow had declared him. (Almost 8 months now, and he's barely had more than a sip a week).

Turning the never ending flask upright, Killian lets out a sigh, because _he misses them_ in a way one would miss their family, and he worries and wonders if they're alright. He's glad he hadn't just taken the bean and left when they'd found it, because then he would have never known about The Wicked Witch, even if this whole new (old?) curse forces his hand in making Emma remember, in putting Emma once again in a position that forces her to save the ones she loves. At the very least, this time, she won't be doing it alone.

A strong smell of fish wafts through his nose, and Killian raises his eyes into the present, watching as a fishing boat steers close to the Jolly.

New York is a large, dense city, and though he has the help of a ring and a charmed necklace to locate her, no one had taken into account the _sheer amount of people_ that occupied a single cubic meter. Killian had been looking for days now, to no avail.

He is short on time, he knows, Snow was already 3 months pregnant when they'd been taken, and he isn't sure how time will be affected in this new Storybrooke. Worse still, he knows that trying to get Emma to trust him enough to drink the potion will not be easy, if she is anything like the Swan he's familiar with. He toys with the idea of True Love's Kiss, but when he'd tentatively broached the subject with David, the man had given him a hard stare before saying that it was likely not to work. Killian can understand that, had nodded his head at the king and dropped the subject at the time _(because it is one thing to love Emma, and a whole other thing to declare himself her True Love),_ but now he figures even if Tink and himself are the only two people in all the realms that believe that Emma Swan is his True Love, well, it's worth a shot. Even if Emma just might kill him. Honestly, he's probably not going to be able to help himself anyway.

"Jeffrey, it's going to be 7, get your ass up!" a voice yells from somewhere to his distant right, and Killian sees a small ferry making its way across the waters, steered by a big man with a hat.

Seven o'clock is a good time as any to resume his search, so Killian prepares himself for another foray into the jungle that is this rock city.

He unfolds the crudely drawn map, remembering Neal's advice on how to appear like a New Yorker (even if he had dutifully ignored the advice for a wardrobe change) and how to get through the security of its numerous apartment buildings.

"Just go in like you own it, man," Neal had said.

He crosses off the dark gray building on his map; this is slightly more upscale than the one yesterday, he notes. There are only three apartments per floor, and only about ten floors. He knocks on apartment 001 and finds a disgruntled old lady, who upon finding him at her threshold at 7:30 in the morning, snaps, "If you're here to tell me, 'Oh Arabella, your damned cats got into a fight with mine', well I don't care!" and then slams the door in his face.

Killian blinks (he's always been more of a dog person, anyway), before moving on to 002. He continues to 003, to 104, to 207, and when he gets to the floor that houses 310, 311 and 312, the ring Snow had given him burns hotly against his skin, and Killian lets out an unwitting gasp, because _she is here. SHE IS HERE. Finally._

He ignores the searing pain, doesn't care if the ring will leave its mark as he restrains himself from banging down the door of 310. She's on this floor. This could be her. When the door opens, Killian holds his breath.

He is greeted by a teenage boy, with dark mussed hair, whom could be Henry if the lad had sprung up by a good 6 inches and decided to pierce his ears and paint the tips of his hair red.

The boy raises an eyebrow at him, and Killian finds himself staring into eerily familiar blue eyes, just like his own.

"What?" the teenager says, as a means of greeting.

"I'm sorry," Killian says, because this boy is clearly not Henry, and so she's not in this one.

"Dude, are you the new newspaper guy? Thanks man," the kid says, bending down to pick the newspaper Killian had neglected to notice, and then with a nod of his head, closes the door.

Killian moves on to 311, because if it's not this one, then it's the next one, the ring can't be wrong, he's so close…

He thumps smartly on the door, and tries counting to ten in his head to calm down his racing heart but he goes through the numbers too fast in his anxiety and ends up hammering against the door because he can hear the music from inside, knows someone is home and he's about to knock again when the door is thrown open, and the place that used to house his stomach is suddenly just filled with air.

It's her.

All his practiced words and speeches disappear abruptly, leaving him uttering her name with relief as he sees a distant recollection in her eyes; he rushes forward to greet her, "At last."

Her hands shoot out immediately, "Whoa, do I know you?" blocking his entry and Killian cannot help the joy bursting through his every sinew as he gazes at her but focuses on the one thing he knows Emma would respond to – a call for help.

"Look, I need your help. Something's happened, something terrible - your family is in trouble."

"My family is right here," Emma responds almost immediately, and asks, "Who are you?"

Your pirate, he wants to say. Instead, he settles for "An old friend."

"Look I know you can't remember me," he continues, because he can _see _her physically trying to place him, like he's familiar, like something from once upon a dream, and Killian doesn't even try to talk himself out of it, it is now or never, so rushing on, bouncing on the balls of his feet, he says, "but I can make you."

He doesn't even stop to allow her to process the words as he rushes forward, feeling her soft curls beneath his fingertips once more, followed by the sensation of lips against lips, and for the briefest of seconds feels Emma lean into him to respond, and in the next moment, there is unimaginable pain in his nether regions as she pushes him back and Killian just lets his body fall against the wall because god damn in all seven hell it bloody hurts, he may never be able to use it again, and the only consolation is she doesn't scream, instead asks almost breathless (he thinks but he's not sure because the pain may be causing hallucinations), "What the hell are you doing?"

"A long shot," he groans out, "I had to try." Killian ignores the pain in his heart for the physical pain, even as he confesses, "I was hoping you felt as I did."

He tries to take a step forward, and though she doesn't sound angry, her words are a threat. "All you're gonna feel is the handcuffs when I call the cops."

He takes another step forward, desperate, because she's shutting down, he can feel whatever recognition slipping away from her face, and begs, "Look I know this seems crazy, but you have to listen to me, you have to remem-"

But the door is already slammed shut.

He stands there, stock still and in pain for a moment, deciding what to do. Emma Swan hates her hand being forced, so he immediately crosses out the idea of knocking again. It's too soon. Besides, if Henry was in there with her, he knew she'd do anything to eliminate what she assumed was a threat. No, he'd have to get her alone.

Killian considers leaving the swan necklace on the door, but decides slamming Emma with memories of Neal, painful memories, at that, isn't any kind of form at all, and will be completely counter productive. She may shut him out completely, in fact.

Killian can't leave the ring, because it's Snow's and he's not sure what customs are like in this realm, but in his own, a man leaving a woman a ring is a significant token, and he's not quite ready to send her that message just yet.

He almost considers leaving his flask, because they share memories from drinking it, it might help, except, she'll probably mistake him for a drunken loon, and that'll be the end of that.

In the end, Killian leaves with leaving nothing, committing her address and door to memory, taking in the surroundings of the building and waiting.

He's nothing if not a patient man, after all.

* * *

THE END.

_Thank you everyone for reading and following this story, please do leave a review if you're so inclined. Cheers!_


	4. 1 & a half years and 3 Days

**This was initially supposed to stand on its own, but it fit so perfectly into this verse that I've added it here. **

* * *

They walked back to the apartment hand-in-hand, in silence. Hook's, _Killian's_ grip was firm in hers, a show of support that kept her grounded as memories fizzed past her mind's eye trying to place themselves in categories of _not real _and _real. _It gave Emma a raging headache, and she walked on autopilot, dodging fellow New Yorkers and crossing busy streets.

When they got back to the empty apartment, with Henry out at school, Emma took a deep shuddering breath, feeling overwhelmed. In an instant, Killian tugged her closer to him, urging her to breathe in a calm and quiet voice.

Emma closed her eyes and tried to stem the myriad of conflicting memories and emotions, because it was all too much, too much, _and damn him_.

"I'm sorry," he whispered directly into her ear, and Emma's eyes shot open in surprise at his close proximity. This too, was new. She had never been a fan of physical contact, and yet now she craved it, needed to feel him, to ensure that he was real and there.

"What?" she asked, unable to stop the breathless sound of her voice.

"I'm sorry, for waking you up from your perfect dream," he said, pulling away slightly to fix her with an appropriately remorseful stare.

"That's just what it was though, a dream," she sighed, sinking into his arms without even realizing what she was doing. Killian stiffened for all of a second before his arms went around her, for the second time that day.

"I know it's all a bit much right now, love," he consoled.

Emma sighed into him, the smell of leather, rum and salt accosting her nostrils in a surprisingly pleasant way. She tried to focus on a single point, a single memory, to ease the pain in her head. It was difficult, but the yoga classes she had taken up in the past 6 months helped her focus her mind's eye and on breathing techniques; however, she _should have known_ the memory that her subconscious would pick, as she was suddenly brought back to a vivid moving image of her kiss with Hook in Neverland.

She sucked in a deep breath, wrenching herself out of his arms.

"You came back," she said, repeating her first words after regaining her memories to him, watching him with something akin to awe. Disbelief. Gratitude. Joy. _Hope._

"Both because I wanted to, and because I needed to."

"Needed to?"

Hook, Killian, she corrected herself viciously, rubbed the heel of his palms against his eyes, and suddenly Emma was struck by how worn out he appeared. There were rings under his eyes, masked by the kohl he usually wore, but it was smudged lightly, as though he hadn't bothered to check it. The usually immaculate leather coat was frayed slightly on the right, as if something had snagged on it and pulled, and there was a dark, thin line on his neck Emma was positive she hadn't seen before.

"I should preface this by saying that the moment my feet touched the ground in the Enchanted Forest a year ago, the second I opened my eyes, I knew I should be here, should be fighting to get back to you," he said, eyes serious and intent on hers.

"What made you stay?"

"The knowledge that you were happy. Unencumbered by expectations to be _the savior, _to be Snow & Charming's lost princess, that you were getting a life you always wanted…"

Emma blinked rapidly, unable to stop her eyes from tearing. She willed them not to fall, and it took two deep breaths for her to regain her composure. "How'd you know that's a life I always wanted?"

"Emma…" he said, exhaling a loud suffering sigh.

"Was that what _you_ wanted?" she pressed on, needing to name this thing (even if it scared her beyond belief, even if there were more important issues at hand), needing to know.

"All I want is your and Henry's happiness, Swan."

"Why?"

The question slipped from her lips before she could stop it, before she could realize that this was a point of no return, that it was unfair of her to ask so much of him when she could not give even a quarter in return.

He tensed immediately, jaw locking and twitching, eyes staring at her incredulously.  
"You would make me say it?"

Did she want him to? Emma didn't know. But he'd spent a _year _searching for her, doing what was supposed to be impossible (though Killian Jones had never once struck her as a man who was concerned with words like impossible and unattainable). Even before that, he had abandoned a 300 year old revenge vendetta to allow her to save her son, had allowed board the same man he swore to kill, had told her the truth time and time again despite the many opportunities he had to lie… She's never had this before. Never, not like this,_ not like him,_ not once.

He'd all but said it before, in so many words. She remembered, the memory came like a hurricane, _"It's what the kiss exposed. My secret is that I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, my Milah. To believe I could find someone else. That is…until I met you."_

"Emma?"

"You don't have to say it, Hook. Not until you're ready."

He gave a wry chuckle, eyebrow raised, lips upturned in a slow smirk. "Emma, I've loved you for a long while yet, but I fear it was _you_ who was not ready to hear it."

"You love me?"

"Honestly, does that surprise you, lass?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered, a warm feeling buzzing through spine to the tips of her toes, and she moved back into his arms despite the little voice in the back of her head screaming bloody murder, telling her she'd only lose him, that it'd end in heartbreak because she is Emma freaking Swan, who never catches a break.

She almost gave in and turned and ran, but Killian's arms encircled her cautiously, and only when she rested her head against his chest could she hear the loud thudding of his heart, and only then did she consider the cost he bore in revealing his heart yet again with no way of knowing her own feelings on the matter. She realized then, that she kept taking his devotion to her for granted. That he loved so deeply that he'd either fly to freedom from it, or choke his soul to darkness. She wanted him to be free.

"Hook?"

"Hmm?"

"I feel the same way," she said quietly, gripping the lapels of his well-worn coat to look up at him. The words, the ones she's almost sure she feels, wouldn't move pass her lips, had a hard time even being formed in her brain, but she knew in time…

He grinned at her, a blinding grin that she'd seen on her doorstep that fateful morning 3 days ago, and lowered his face down so that his lips brushed hers lovingly.

Emma gasped, an immediate shock spreading through her veins like molten fire as her tongue brushed his lips. Killian pulled back as if burnt, eyes wide.

A sound of protest left her even as she tried to chase his lips, but Killian gripped her arm tightly, pupils dilated and face pained.

"No, no, love. I have a long tale to tell you and if we keep… I need to keep my wits."

"Killian," she said sternly.

"Hmmm?"

"I just need a moment. _This _moment," she said_, with you_, hanging in the space of her pause.

"Before everything else goes to hell. Before you tell me _what exactly_ this brand new hell is. Before we decide what to do, how to tell Henry, how to get him to remember, and all that that's going to sweep us up in a whirlwind. _I just need a good moment."_

"It would be my honor," he said seriously, eyes intent in a way that seared her and made her feel like if he was by her side she could do anything (and she viciously stamped down the fear of how dependent she was of him, had been since Neverland; funny to think it was a year ago when it felt like days).

"As for the young lad, I've got a second bottle that will help. It's not much, but Regina assured me that given he has the heart of the truest believer that it should be enough… We'll do this together Emma, I swear it."

"Now, can I kiss you?" she asked, feeling bolstered by his confidence, by his faith, and Emma tried not to fight the feeling, tried to let go even if just for a while.

"Why Swan, I didn't think you'd ever—omph" he muttered against her lips as she slanted hers across his hungrily. In many ways, it was like their kiss in Neverland, raw passion and need, a feeling of absolute _rightness _that just spread from her chest outward, but this kiss was less of a challenge and more of a promise.

They kissed and kissed, and somehow made their way to the comfortable couch, her body atop his as his hand raked relentlessly though her hair, neck, back and breasts (which drew a breathy moan from her), always keeping mind to keep above her waist.

Emma was not so demure; removing his coat as her hand explored his chest (fingers slipping past his barely buttoned shirt), his back (which if not protected by his shirt would have been littered with scratch marks), his thighs (causing him to hiss with pleasure and bite down on her neck), his hair (which he enjoyed by pressing himself closer into her, rubbing against her leg like a cat), and the stubbled jaw line (which was thicker than she ever remembered it).

"Killian," she breathed, after a good ten minutes of kissing and touching, feeling like if they didn't stop she'd just let him take her there, (an idea that seemed more and more appealing by the second as the heat between her legs called for satiation).

"Gods, Emma. You're perfect," he said reverently, running his fingers through her already mussed hair.

"And you're biased," she said with a grin, kissing the corner of his mouth, "besides, you're not so bad yourself, oh dashing pirate."

"Pirate…" he repeated, something in his eyes shuttering close, and Emma, who had only just been treated to a relaxed Killian Jones picked up on the minute change immediately.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, love, just an old insecurity."

Emma tapped his nose, an action so fond and intimate it gave her pause, before speaking, "You've always been so much more than a pirate, Captain Hook. You're also Killian Jones, the man that jumped realms to get back to me, a man who's done the right thing when he could have taken the easy way out… you're a man of honor."

"Thank you, Emma," he said, closing his eyes and swallowing. Emma followed the motion of his Adam's apple, feeling a momentary sense of peace despite the buzzing thoughts in the back of her mind that she knew she must give attention to now. To hear what had brought him back with urgency, the danger her family was in (she knew they wouldn't begrudge her the few minutes she'd stolen with Hook), to understand whatever it was this curse was.

"I'm ready now," she said quietly, moving to sit up on his lap, comfortable to hear whatever he had to say from her perch on his legs. He sat up, accommodating her almost perfectly as they settled like that, before he began speaking with a small sigh.

When he finished, outlining perhaps the most shocking thing, which wasn't even finding out that Dorothy and The Wicked Witch of the West were real people, (because she _had_ just made out with Captain Hook, so really she was in no position to judge…) was that Storybrooke was back. Cursed. All over again. It was enough to make her groan and thump her head against his chest in defeat because were they seriously going to go through that whole shebang again? It also brought up the sticky topic of True Love's Kiss and if it would even work; if it was woven into the fabric of the curse…

She got up from her seat, catching his slight wince as his legs woke up from the sleep her weight must have put it under. She grinned to herself as she turned back to her coat draped on the chair, to pick up the scroll and dream-catcher they'd retrieved from Neal's apartment when she hadn't yet remembered.

"There's another matter," Killian said hesitantly, eyeing her warily as she turned back to him.

Emma noted his straightened, uncomfortable posture and felt her stomach tighten. What else could be wrong now?

As if sensing her thoughts, he spoke, "Its not bad news per say."

Emma clenched the scroll and set it down on the table, moving back to the couch, perching herself on its handle as she met his closed-off gaze.

"Henry's to be have uncle," is how he chose to break the news to her. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, as if just waiting to see her reaction to what should have been happy news, it was, but Emma couldn't suppress the feeling she'd felt her entire life – _you're not enough, you're too damaged to be what we want._

"David and Snow wanted you to know that this can't and will never replace you, Emma," he said, each word measured and careful. Emma hated that he was treating her like glass, like he expected her to shatter, and she wanted to lash out at him; but if he sensed her anger, he chose to ignore it, instead seeing past it to the desperate girl inside, moving so fast she didn't register that she was once again in his arms.

"They have a missive for you," he said, offering her a small square paper from the depths of his ever resourceful coat. If she were in the right frame of mind, she might have laughed at how he reminded her of a much hotter version of Hagrid, with his never ending pockets, but as it was, her thoughts were far too preoccupied.

She took a deep breath, inhaling him in the process as her fingers gripped the paper. As Emma turned the paper, she gasped.

"What is it?" he asked in alarm, but Emma shook her head, focusing on the seal wax. It was messy, as if the paper had been sealed hastily, but the shape was unmistakable. Emma raised her arm, pushing Graham's shoelace down as she revealed the little tattoo underneath. She knew Hook made the connection as soon as she heard a sharp "_Bloody hell_" from him, and she traced the tattoo thoughtfully.

"You've had this all along?" he asked, tracing a finger over the pattern on her skin, incognizant that he was raising gooseflesh along her arms.

"Yeah," she murmured, wondering if it was possible to remember your surroundings when you were only 10 minutes old.

Emma opened the seal, not bothering to angle her body away from his eyes, so that he could read off her shoulder if he wished to. It was something that would've usually bothered her, yet she couldn't find a care to give in this particular instance. To her surprise, he turned away, choosing to busy himself with her hair, as her eyes focused on the messy, hasty scrawl.

* * *

O_ur dearest Emma, _

_If you're reading this, it means Killian found you. It means you're one step closer to home. We miss you so much, yet it pains us to bring you back into this life of constant movement and heart ache, we're sorry for not being able to protect you as parents should. Yet, the idea that we'll see you soon makes us so happy. So happy, Emma._

_Killian will fill you in on everything, but the one thing we wanted you to know from our parts was that this little baby sister or brother of yours, is not meant to be another you. We love you, we're proud of you, and you will always be our little girl. Our firstborn. No matter what. _

_We love you, Emma. Come home safely to us, princess, because our family will always find each other, including this little one, no matter what._

_P/S – I'm sorry about Neal. I never knew – he told us everything._

_P/S/S - What your mother didn't tell you is that she slapped him so hard the mark didn't fade until 3 days later._

_P/S/S/S – David!_

_Love King David & Queen Snow, also known as your parents._

* * *

"King?" she questioned, choosing to ignore the clenching in her heart that was part reassurance, part fondness (because even in writing they're so them) and part old insecurities that may never fade.

Killian shrugged, as if to say '_Well what can you do' _but there was something about his demeanor that made her ask, "And what is your title, then?"

He bit his lip, as colour rose to his cheeks, but his tone was smug, a total paradox, when he answered, "Lord Protector of the Realm and Admiral of the Navy."

Emma wasn't sure what exactly that meant, though it sounded fancy and fairly important. "And what exactly are you admiring, Captain?"

His grin was positively devious as he leered at her, "Why you, of course."

Emma couldn't help but laugh. "Right then, keep dreaming."

"Oh, I will," he said, his words sounding like an obscene promise. Emma tried not to let his suggestive tone affect her, but seeing as she was practically seated in his lap, she was sure he could feel the way her body was thrumming.

Instead, she hit him on his chest. "Focus, Hook!" she admonished.

"Right," he muttered, casting her a petulant glare as he rubbed his chest. "Focus on the ugly green bint who wants Regina dead and is determined to take a whole town down with her rather than focus on the beautiful blonde in my lap."

Emma rolled her eyes at him. "Focus on how to _defeat_ said 'ugly green bint'" she said, doing a poor imitation of his accent.

Just then, a noise at the door caught their attention, and Emma leaped to the other end of the couch just as Henry pushed his way through the door.

"Hey mom, I—" he trailed off, eyes widening as he considered the man in leather sitting on his couch. No one said anything for a second before Henry's eyes narrowed shrewdly at Hook.

"I know you!"

"What?" Emma sputtered.

"How are you real?"

"I'm impressed, lad. Your heart is true."

"My heart is what?"

"Henry," Emma said, cutting in to this confusing reveal, "how do you know him?"

"I've dreamt of him. And his boat."

"Ship," Killian corrected almost immediately.

"Ship," Henry agreed.

"You've been dreaming too?"

"Too?" questioned two simultaneous voices, their gazes zeroing on her.

Emma shrugged, trying desperately not to recall some of the other more… vivid dreams, ones she now _knew_ were imagination. "I've remembered some things, but I thought they were just dreams…"

"Like what?" Hook asked, tilting his head at her in curiosity.

"What's going on?" Henry asked, eyes flicking between the two of them. Emma wondered what her son was thinking.

Hook stood, facing her son fully, and she noticed how his eyes darted reflexively to Hook's left hand, where his gleaming hook should have been. "Killian Jones, at your service, young sir."

After a beat, "But I suppose you'd remember me as Captain Hook."

"Captain Hook…" Henry repeated, not even a little incredulous. Instead, he seemed to be assessing the man, as if trying to place him.

Emma wondered if at this point of her life if surprise was even a valid emotion.

"Aye."

Hook, _Killian_, she reminded herself, finding it difficult to settle on his two jarring personalities, moved towards his coat, retrieving the familiar potion bottle. There was hardly any in it, a quarter of a teaspoon at best. He handed it to Henry, who snatched it for inspection without a word.

"Mom?" came her teenage son's voice, finally unsure about the turn of events. Believing was one thing, she supposed, but trusting a stranger enough to swallow his offered potion was a whole 'nother story. At the very least, the year in New York had instilled some good old-fashioned sense of distrust and skepticism. Henry was long past the age of literally sacrificing his heart for an evil 300 plus year old man-child.

"It'll help you remember, Henry," she said, standing to situate herself beside Killian, who was biting his lip anxiously.

"I will see no harm comes to your person, lad," Killian said, "but you must believe in… well, me. And your grandparents. And your…" his eyes flicked to her briefly before continuing, "and your mother, your _other _mother, Regina. She loves and misses you very much, Henry."

With that, he uncurled his fingers, a motion she hadn't even realized he'd done, and revealed a faded, green little turtle. It was a stuffed toy, one Emma had never seen before, but Henry sucked in a breath, obviously recognizing it. All at once, it hit her that the eleven years she'd thought she had with him was a total lie. Lie, lie, lies.

His eyes met hers again, and Emma nodded, anxious, as Henry uncorked the bottle and unceremoniously tipped its contents into his mouth.

He blinked, chocolate brown eyes glazed over in confusion, before zeroing on Killian's outstretched hand. "Tootles," he said, and Killian's eyebrow shot up in surprise.

Henry picked up 'Tootles' (of all godforsaken names, Emma thought) and inspected it. "How'd my mom get this?" he asked, and Emma knew he meant Regina.

"No idea, lad. So do you… do you remember?"

"Bits and pieces," Henry murmured, staring at the stuffed turtle like it had all the answers in the world.

"Kid?"

"I'm okay," he said, eyes darting back to Killian who was standing straight, as if waiting for a royal inspection of his fleet.

"So you're here…" Henry said, and the way he said it made Emma's heart burn; she heard what he hadn't asked. _Why you, where is my father?_

It was a good question, but in the recess of her mind she knew why Neal hadn't been sent instead. Henry however, didn't.

"Yes. But if it's all the same with you, lad, we need to… head back to Storybrooke."

"Head back?" Henry gaped, "to Storybrooke? But I thought…"

"Yeah, I know right. Guess super evil curses aren't what they used to be, eh?" Emma said, trying to ease Henry's surprise.

Henry sighed. "Who do we need to save?"

"Everyone," was Killian's quiet, pained answer.

A grim determination settled across her son's features, one she had often seen in the mirror, and in that moment Emma felt a surge of pride for her strong little man, the warmth of love for his unyielding courage.

"Come on then, Operation Fairytale is a go!" Henry said, upending his school bag onto the table in lieu of more practical items.

Yeah, Emma thought, catching Killian's proud smirk, they could do this. Come what may.


End file.
